Post-Nuptial Agreement Ch. 09 & End

There were a few more moments of silence. The lawyer looked scared, and Violet wouldn't be at all surprised if she were escorted out of the building by security.

"I...I don't know anything about that, ma'am. I just know what's in the will," the lawyer said.

Violet tried to collect herself but only got partway before another idea popped into her head. "Okay, fine. So what are we doing now, and where do you want to go?"

"What do you mean?" the lawyer asked.

"The conditions. I assume that's why we're meeting alone? So what's the deal? One and done? Am I visiting you for a week? Is it all three holes, just my ass, do you bring friends, what's happening here?"

"Mrs. Mallor," the lawyer said, standing, "I can only assume you're suffering because of grief; this is all...very inappropriate. I'd like you to leave. I'll send a notarized letter with any concerns, and I'll see you at the reading on Thursday."

"Fine, whatever," Violet said as she stormed out of the office. The lawyer was only a little older than she was. She really wouldn't have minded.

He's a decade younger than most of the people I fucked, at least.

* * * * *

Friday morning she sat in Darren's old office, swinging idly back and forth in his office chair, looking out the window, confused.

The lawyer hadn't been playing a game or being evasive. She inherited all of Darren's domestic estate. He arranged for his controlling interests in most of his companies to be liquidated or sold off, so she still owned part of the companies but not in a way that meant she would need to make real decisions on any of them. The jet, the houses, the downtown Atlanta penthouse she was in, the cars. She'd met with a financial advisor who'd told her that if she planned to live her life herself and not do any speculative business deals or gambling she literally couldn't run out of money. Even then, she could still buy a few midwestern townships and not worry about her liquidity.

There was a tentative knock on the door. Violet looked over and saw Constance. They'd hired the girl as a maid after Sharon left; the Asian girl had stuck it out for a full year, but after walking in on Darren and one of his Russian associates spitroasting Violet over the desk she now sat behind, the girl couldn't take it. Darren set her up with a scholarship that let her go to any school she wanted without worrying about loans. Meanwhile Constance had been blackballed in Atlanta after her judgmental and dismissive service in a clothing boutique Violet visited after her wedding; she'd scoffed at and then gossiped about the butt plug Violet wore that day. Violet thought it was part of Darren's sadistic streak; putting her under the Mallor NDA meant she couldn't gossip about the wild things she saw in the house without financial and personal ruin, and she had the same access to Violet on Sunday as any other staff member, so Violet was forced to eat her out despite what she did. Over the past nine years the girl's urge to gossip had been curbed. Violet was still ambivalent on eating her out.

Violet just waved at her; she knew why the maid had knocked.

Jim and Cherise Monroe came into the office. Jim was looking a little less cut than a decade ago, but he was far from soft. Cherise had aged like the model she now was; she'd moved from hot to elegant and her wardrobe moved with it. She had a long flowing burnt orange skirt on with a pale off-white short-sleeved blouse and minimal jewelry. Jim wore a charcoal grey pant and jacket combo with a basic white shirt underneath. Both were now vice presidents in the companies Darren set them up in, and Cherise had started a promising side project as an activist.

"We just wanted to see if you're okay," Cherise said.

Violet shrugged. "I'm rich. I don't have to wake up at 5:30 anymore to get him off. I don't have to fuck his friends when they drop by for a visit. I'm worth five hundred million dollars. I think I'm okay, yeah."

"Vi-"

"We didn't love each other," Violet said, "I was his sex slave for a decade, which you both know very well, I'll point out."

Darren's promise to offer Violet as a "wedding favor" had come to pass. She'd been responsible for getting ten women off, many of them her former classmates, while they did whatever to her ass and pussy during Cherise's bachelorette party. They'd filmed the session on the wedding night where they'd tied Violet down and brought her to orgasm after orgasm with vibrators, plugs, tongues, and Jim's cock. Then the film had entertained Darren so much that he lent her out to the couple every year around their anniversary, as long as they filmed whatever happened and sent him a copy. And when Cherise got pregnant with her kids, Darren offered Violet "on call" to help with any sexual needs they had, like when Cherise was unquenchably horny or when she got too uncomfortable to do certain things in bed with Jim.

"If you're wondering why I'm not laughing maniacally or crying or any of that it's because I'm in shock. I figured I'd get a few hundred grand and told to shuffle off. Like I said, I wasn't really his wife in any real sense. I don't know why he left me this," Violet finished, waving around trying to include the office and the rest of the estate.

"You want my opinion?" Cherise asked.

"Do I have a choice?" Violet griped.

"As your husband was so fond of saying, you always have a choice. He was also a big believer in quid pro quo. He never judged people. Did he tell you about Vogue?"

Violet shook her head. She'd known about it; it was Cherise's one dip into "real" modeling and high fashion. She'd kept it up for a year and then went back to retail.

"The guy in charge of that modeling gig was a sleaze. The contracts had a bunch of dismissal clauses that were bullshit because no real person could keep all of them. The real deal was, if you wanted into his show, you blew him. Even then it wasn't guaranteed. I met with Darren, and he said he didn't see a way around it, but he could make sure the guy stuck by it. So I did it. One blowjob per show isn't that big of a fee, and he didn't demand we get naked or anything, not that it mattered with some of the fashions anyway. But then one time I 'pay the entry fee' and he cuts me anyway. Some hotshot Russian starlet wants in and she's willing to fuck him. I tell him that wasn't the deal, he tells me to give him my ass to guarantee the spot. I tell him to shove it. Then I tell Darren."

Cherise took a drink she'd poured herself from the decanter of scotch sitting on one of the shelves. Jim had been quiet and stoic through all of this, though a slight squint in his eye said he was remembering the ordeal.

Cherise continued, "Darren's legal teams drop on him like a hammer. They sue the guy for predatory contracts and report him to the modeling agencies for harassment and abuse. Then the media gets wind of the story and starts digging. Meanwhile someone starts getting the former models to come out on social media with their stories. When the Russian starlet is offered a contract with a different agency, she comes forward as someone that could be a legal witness, and the guy gives his own blowjob to a pistol."

"That's a very nice triumph for feminism but what does that have to do with me?" Violet asked bitterly.

"Because it's how Darren is. He didn't care that I had to give the guy blowjobs before every show; that was the agreement, take it or leave it. I took it. He never cared what the terms were, he just wanted them to be followed. It was the same with you."

"I had to do a whole lot fucking more than give him a blowjob," Violet growled.

"Yeah, and both of you knew why; you wanted his money. You said he'd confronted you about it. So I think that was his setup. You...did what you did right up to the end. That was the price you were willing to pay, and so you got what you were after."

"That's twisted and sick, but I guess that was my husband," Violet said.

After that there was a long and semi-uncomfortable silence that Violet didn't seem to acknowledge. Finally Cherise said, "So...um..."

"Yeah," Violet interrupted, shaking her head as if coming out of a stupor, "I called you here, right. Um, we're done."

"Well, I sort of figured since Darren-"

"No Cherise, we're done. All the way done. After today I don't want to see you or Jim or your kids or anything ever again. Don't call, text, don't even come by my building."

Jim still had his neutral expression on, but Cherise looked hurt. "Vi, come on, we-"

"Used me as a sex toy. I'll admit I was a bitch to you in high school, and in the years after. I toyed with you and Jim while I chased Darren. But we are so beyond even for that. The anniversary videos were bad enough, but the times you made me go down on you or fuck your husband while you were pregnant just..." Violet finished with a dismissive, disgusted wave.

"You enjoyed yourself thou-"

"I had orgasms. You can get an orgasm out of any woman if you play with her clit enough. Believe me, I know. I didn't enjoy myself; the orgasms were the only thing that made it barely tolerable. You could have told Darren you thought it was sick and disturbing that he pimped his wife out for you but you welcomed me in with open thighs. So we're done. I don't know if we ever really were friends, but we aren't now. I found another bottle of scotch for you. To remember our times together. Constance will show you out."

Jim stood and started over to his wife but Cherise didn't move for a second.

"Come on honey," he said.

"But she-"

"She's right," Jim said, "I thought the anniversary thing was kind of fucked up but what the hell, it was a wild, kinky ride. The pregnancy bit threw me though. I would have said no except you were all gung-ho about it. Think about your platforms, your outreach work. Think about what happens if she goes and tells people what you did while you were pregnant. How you see that playing?"

Cherise's face fell. She still seemed conflicted but she didn't resist leaving that time.

* * * * *

Three weeks went by. Violet still woke up at 5:30 every morning and rolled over. At first she was relieved to find nobody there she had to fuck or suck off. Then she started to get angry that her body kept waking her up. She started getting snippy with the staff. She'd cancelled the Sunday sessions as soon as Darren was declared dead. Manny had retired and Chad didn't last more than a few months, having been replaced with a few different runners over the years. The security staff were women now.

Violet had gotten better at introspection over the years. She knew what the issue was, but like in the beginning, she didn't want to admit it, not even to herself. Privately she told Constance she would still eat her out once a week if she really wanted. That confused the maid but Violet didn't bother to explain.

* * * * *

Abigail Forsythe came into the office brazenly, but with just enough deference to not be offensive.

"I assume you want me here so you can gloat and take your pound of flesh for that shit I pulled years ago. Tell me where to bend over. Or just, I don't know, tell me who's escorting me to a dumpster or an alley or whatever and whether I have to fuck 'em first," she spat.

Violet blinked at her, expressionless.

"What happened?" Violet asked her.

"What do you mean what happened? Your guy got a brain aneurysm. Mine didn't. Your guy wanted tits, ass, and holes to play with. Mine wanted sweet, innocent, and virginal. Four years in things start to catch up with me. The gym isn't doing what it used to. I can't eat less without looking skeletal, and that turns him off. Eventually a few lines here and an extra pound or five there add up to me getting home one day and being introduced to Bonnie, my new "little sister". Girl was 19, she could walk into any middle school in the country and there's probably a 20% chance she's found out. I knew then it was only a matter of time. We had our second "real talk" moment of our marriage. He says I'm obviously looking older, and it's just not working for him. I can still get him off, but anyone jerking his cock could do that. He's willing to give me 500 grand as a parting gift. I take it, because I have no legal leg to stand on -- the prenup we signed said that if I left, I got nothing. He wasn't forcing me out; I could have stuck it out for three, four, hell maybe a lot of years. But I'd be sitting there watching Bonnie take over for me, and there's no way we'd be okay with that. So I bought a house, cash, and went back to nursing. No way I could afford $1000 a month for that health club, and I figured me giving a tearful goodbye wasn't something either of us wanted, so yeah, I ghosted you. Now I'm a nice, comfortable, middle class working woman who mops up shit, vomit, and blood day in, day out."

"Girlfriend?" Violet asked.

"Same old problem, only it's worse now. People our age aren't as shallow, and some of them like the thin, curve-less look. But I'm too used to not taking shit from anyone and living in your world that I have no friends, much less anyone interested in fucking me. I'm unicorn hunting."

"Do you miss this?" Violet said, waving at the room.

Abigail gave her a very calculating, suspicious look.

"That's a stupid question you already know the answer to," she said.

"No it isn't," Violet insisted, "Some people like the simple-"

"Just stop. We're both past that kind of bullshit. We scraped and clawed our way out of that life for this. You know I want it back. Sure I'm comfortable, if you consider working shit hours and dealing with people comfortable. I'm doing better than 90 percent of the population, but I don't care; I want fuck you rich. I want to never go anywhere I don't have to. The only shit I want to deal with is flushing my own down the toilet. So cut the bullshit and tell me what you want."

"I want you to be my live-in friend with benefits," Violet said.

That quieted Abigail for a while. Eventually Violet offered, "Drink?"

"Yeah," Abigail said, and went over to the decanter when Violet gestured in the right direction. She poured half a tumbler of whiskey, drank it back like it was apple juice, then refilled the glass and came back to the desk.

"Isn't a 'live in friend with benefits' a wife?" Abigail asked.

"I'm not going through all that," Violet said, "We aren't starting a family, I'm not creating a legacy, I don't want to go back and forth with you about inheritance or watch lawyers do it, and frankly I'm not going to fall in love with you. I never believed in love, and the last ten years have taught me I was right. I worked hard to get here, but I've got two problems; everyone who talks to me now works for me. All of Darren's old friends couldn't care less if I live or die. They don't even want to fuck me; without Darren here they probably think I'll cry rape or something. I want someone who I can trust to fuck me, but I don't want you to travel two hours every time. So you move in here."

"You just told me you aren't gay and you want me to fuck you? I think I'm missing a few key pieces of equipment."

Violet held her hand out for the tumbler Abigail held. She passed it over and Violet took a deep drink from it, then slid it back across the bar.

"I'm an anal slut," she said.

"Tell me something I don't know," Abigail said.

"No, I mean I'm, like, an addict or something. I never admitted it until about a year into everything. I still get into fits of denial about it. But if you get me worked up enough or drunk enough and stick something in my ass I'll do anything. I'll fuck a football team, I'll fuck the cheerleaders. I drank someone's piss once. Threw up after I came down off the sex high, but I did it. Darren had to stop me sometimes. I think I almost agreed to let someone do something to me with an enema."

"Didn't you give yourself enemas all the time?" Abigail asked.

"This would have been them getting an enema, and me getting what comes after," Violet clarified. She couldn't help a thrill of satisfaction at seeing Abigial's face blanch.

"Look, Violet, I was into George's kink but that was only to get the money. What we did in the bathroom...I mean that was mostly because I'd never done it before and I thought I could get away with it. I was kind of embarrassed afterward. I'm not really looking to explore the depths of your depravity."

"I'm not either," Violet said. She paused for a while and took a breath, as if the next bit was tough for her to say. "I don't want to. But if I'm left to myself I probably will, and that won't look pretty for anyone."

"Do you honestly care what all the rich bitches think? Do any of them even talk to you anymore?" Abigail asked.

"I don't mean I'll be ashamed or embarrassed. I mean I'll probably do something stupid and end up dead. Do you know I caught myself searching for sex clubs last night? And not ones with membership fees and verification or anything like that. I'd been playing with myself for an hour with a plug and found myself trying to find somewhere I could walk in and just start fucking, no questions asked."

"I'm not a babysitter," Abigail said.

"Not even for a multimillion dollar trust fund?" Violet said.

Abigail paused and looked conflicted, so Violet continued, "Look I'm not asking you to keep me on lockdown. But I need an outlet. You're the only person I feel like I can trust."

"That's kind of pathetic."

Violet shrugged, "That's what this is. Like you said; I did what I had to do to get my money. Now I want a live in friend with benefits. You're my first call."

"Do you really want to be my friend?" Abigail asked.

It wasn't a pleading request, or snarky. She seemed to be genuinely curious. Violet took a moment to think. Her honest response wasn't kind, but it was all she had.

"Fine," she admitted, "I want a live in fuck buddy. You want the lifestyle you had. Your choice on whether you want to be Abby or Abigail."

"Abigail fucks better," she offered.

"That's who I need then," Violet said. She pulled out a card and pushed it across the table. "That's connected to an account with two million. Let me know when it runs out, and if you need any stuff delivered."

Abigail smiled coquettishly and stood. "Later. Strip off and bend over this desk. I want to see if that ass is as fine as I remember."

* * * * *

An hour or so later, Violet slumped back in her chair. She could see Abigail's nude, almost curveless form through the glass. It was muddled and wavy because of the sweat and girl cum coating the glass top of the table. Violet's ass had that wonderful, tingling soreness she hadn't felt in weeks; the sensation she only got from someone else abusing her asshole, in Abigail's case with her fingers. She licked her lips slowly, tasting the mixed juices from the girl's pussy and ass. Still, when the high wore off, she felt a deep sense of unease.

She achieved her goal.

She married a rich man. He got half the high society of the world to fuck her ass raw.

He died. She had all his money.

She missed the fucking.